


Impropriety

by Jerevinan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consensual, M/M, Role Reversal, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 20:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14221533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerevinan/pseuds/Jerevinan
Summary: Ignis is sure there are special cells in prison for people who impersonate royalty, but it’s impossible to care when Noctis looks up at him through his lashes, come at the corner of his lips, and whispers, “Your Highness.”





	Impropriety

**Author's Note:**

> I say alternative universe because I imply that Ignis does have a chance to marry Noct, so… It’s an “everyone lives” AU, but it’s purely smut.

Moonlight paints the dark marble of the throne room and dances over the figure crossing the room. His socked feet hush his footsteps along the floors. 

Ignis watches from a seat that doesn’t belong to him, his face never once belying the anxiety churning through him. His knuckles whiten as they grip the armrests.

If they are caught, this is one idea Ignis will let Noctis take the fall for. It has to be one of his worst, too, in a lifetime of perilous choices.

The figure lifts a forearm across his breast and bows. Ignis holds his breath, waiting for the doors to burst open with guards who will drag him off to the darkest corners of the worst prison in Insomnia. But nothing can be heard except the slight shuffle of clothing and Ignis’ nails as they dig into the unyielding armrests of the throne. 

“Your Highness,” says Noctis, the words a soft purr that still manage to echo in the chamber. How could anyone not hear a word? 

Ignis’ heartbeat leaps to his throat, and he wishes he were back in his bed right now—either in his old room within the Citadel, or back in his apartment less than a mile away. Absolute foolishness has led him to this situation. Perhaps it is somewhat his fault, for agreeing, and he should suffer the consequences alongside Noctis.

Each step Noctis takes toward Ignis makes him think about protocol. But that has no place in a scene Noctis has created in order to fulfill some unexplainable desire. They’ll soon be lost for words in a tangle of clothes, lips pressed to one another in heated moments with no room for thought or logic.

Ignis feels his cock stir in his pants, and it isn’t from passion—not yet. It’s the defiance of sitting on a throne that doesn’t belong to him. Risking everything to see Noctis kneel before him, knowing full well that it’ll be more then exhibitionism that gets them in trouble. No one lacking royal blood should be where Ignis is now.

And anyone other than Ignis shouldn’t see Noctis prostrate before them. As Noctis does, he scoops the heel of Ignis’ foot into his palm and rests his lips upon the exposed ankle north of his socks. It tingles pleasantly, a physical touch that Ignis must remember for the future—if they still have one of those after this stunt.

Fingers and palms knead at Ignis’ foot. He leans back in his—no, not _his_ —seat and lets out a soft gasp. As with any sound in the throne room, it is far too loud. He claws at the armrests as Noctis continues to bless his skin with sweet kisses.

Ignis _should_ interrupt. Should remind Noctis that they didn’t need to go this far for their little scene. The guards wouldn’t overhear them in a bedroom, and Noctis can pretend to be a citizen or a retainer or whatever role he pleases. As long as they can’t be caught.

But the thrill of it, and the desire to keep feeling Noctis’ hands on his body, choke down any words of wisdom Ignis might have departed with. Part of him wants this as much as Noctis. Maybe not the throne or the thought of having his lover beneath him in class. It’s the thrill of risking everything in a semi-public place. 

“Mm, your Highness…” The words are caught in a sweet moan, and the moonlight is glimmering in Noctis’ eyes as he stares up at Ignis with a look that speaks of a lifetime of shared companionship and admiration.

Ignis offers praises through touch. Combs fingers through that black hair, smoothing it down as if offering reassurances to a wayward retainer after a scolding. Noctis adjusts himself to a sitting position, demure, and lets Ignis stroke his hair. His fingers rest against a knee, and his head leans against Ignis’ thigh. His pupils are wide from both the darkness and his arousal.

It is shameful how much Ignis is enjoying this quiet submissiveness. They discussed the details before they slipped into the Citadel with some flimsy excuse to borrow the library—where they hid until they had their chance to sneak into the throne room. Ignis knows his boundaries. Stopping is a special rhythm tapped out or a safe word away. Ignis would never take advantage of Noctis, but why waste what he lovingly offers?

Noctis twists around again and begins stroking two fingers against the groin of Ignis’ jeans. His mouth opens, lips hovering close to Ignis’ growing erection beneath. Each breath is warm. The strain is almost uncomfortable—enough that Ignis steels not to buck his hips and push himself against that mouth in the hopes of burying his cock into its heat.

Fingers delicately unbutton the top of Ignis’ jeans. The zipper comes next, pulled by Noct’s teeth—Ignis worries it isn’t good for him but doesn’t have time to warn before Noctis is already finished. Ignis lifts his hips and lets Noctis slip his pants down. The boxer briefs go with them as well, both tugged down enough to allow his erection free. Noctis crawls upward, one thumb planting itself against Ignis’ hip, while the other hand wraps itself around his shaft.

The heat Ignis craved only moments before envelops him. One hand still grips the armrest of the throne, but the other offers gentle affection, threading through black locks. Noctis works in earnest, feigning the part of a worshipful citizen. The service he provides is indeed pleasing to his “prince”—and maybe Ignis will grow fond of that title. He will become a prince if he ever marries Noctis, after all.

“Noct…” He wants to call his lover’s name repeatedly, his tongue flicking against the roof of his mouth with the hard consonants, the vowel rumbling up from his throat. This time with authority he can only pretend to possess—and being a retainer has certainly given him practice. He says it with more confidence, casting away the fear that it might summon someone. 

“Noct… Noct… _Noct_.”

Noctis lets out an appreciative moan and tends to Ignis’ cock with practiced attention. Ignis lets out a gasp as Noctis’ tongue runs along the underside of his erection and teases around his head. Noctis continues to pin down one hip, but that doesn’t stop Ignis from tipping further into Noctis’ mouth as he comes.

When Noctis lifts his head, his wide pupils stare up from between his lashes. Traces of come coat the corner of his mouth. 

“Did that please his Highness?” implores Noctis, his palms cupping Ignis’ knees. 

It is too much for Ignis to take. Ignis rests his back against the throne. It only takes a minute before the bliss fades and Ignis fills with worry. In the dark, Noctis cannot see the shame that reddens his face. The king will sit here in a few short hours. What would he think, if he knew his son worshipped his retainer like a prince on that very spot? Worst of all, Ignis feels less regret than he knows he ought to.

King Regis might have Ignis locked up, but he has to find out first. There is still time for that if the doors burst open and anyone steps in to look for the source of the noise. They’re not even done. Noctis delivered a request in Ignis’ ear before they left the privacy of his apartment that afternoon. Ignis intends to fill it, proving he is as reckless now as he was as a young lad. All for Noctis. _Always_ for Noctis.

“Yes, Noct, it did.” Ignis pulls his pants back up, fixing them back into place as comfortably as he can manage while still seated on the throne. He scoots forward, forcing Noctis to stand lest he be knocked back. As he does, Ignis takes his wrist. Not too harsh. Noctis has specifics for this part of their scene. Gentle. It must be gentle, as if Noctis is a misguided citizen being shown benevolence for his crimes. 

An act of love and fondness. Something special between this prince and his retainer. Or is Noctis pretending to be a citizen? They haven’t established a role for him, only that Ignis is to be the prince—though Noctis did suggest “King” as an afterthought, and Ignis couldn’t pretend he had the same authority as Regis.

Ignis reaches a hand up and thumbs away the drying semen from Noctis mouth. One look into those eyes, and Ignis is helpless to deny him his wish. The pants come down, expertly eased until both jeans and boxer briefs are bunched to Noctis’ knees. Ignis guides him closer and guides him across his lap. It is easy, when Noctis wants this badly enough to ask for it by name hours beforehand and doesn’t fight now that it is actually happening. This is both his treat and his punishment. The erection that Noctis teases against Ignis’ thigh with the tantalizing swivel of his hips is proof enough that this might be his favorite part.

Ignis teases, too, circling his hand over the flesh beneath him. There are details missing in the bad lighting of the throne room, but Ignis has memorized every mole and scar. To remind Ignis why they are there, Noctis raises his ass into the cup of Ignis’ right hand. 

They hadn’t considered the thunderous sounds a spanking would make in the throne room. When Ignis lays a smack against the pale skin beneath him, it sounds like a shot that reverberates in the chamber. It freezes him to his bones, hand stilled in the air for another strike. In hushed silence, they wait. But when there is no sound of boots clipping against the floors in the room on the other side of the doors, Ignis assumes the guards cannot hear.

“Oh, Noct, what have you done to me?” asks Ignis, still whispering on principle despite that the slaps he lands are louder. One after the other, casting away any regard for their precarious situation. 

Noctis is not quiet, nor is he loud. His soft moans relieve the tension that has built up from his busy schedule. This time they’ve had today is a way to release it all. The spanking helps break the cries out of him. Ignis would never do it, otherwise—never harm his prince (even if Ignis is pretending to be one in current circumstances, Noctis will always be _his_ prince). 

Noctis grinds his hips against Ignis’ lap, and in their closeness, Ignis can feel each breath he takes. Ignis twists his free fingers into his lover’s hair. The other hand continues to turn Noctis’ ass a delicious shade of pink. It won’t be long before Noctis comes. It’ll make a mess of Ignis’ trousers, but he can wipe it off long enough to sneak back to Noctis’ old rooms and switch into the spare clothes they’ve brought along. They’ll need to remember their shoes, too—they left them next to Noctis’ backpack to make their slip through the halls that much quieter and undetectable. 

“Ah, your Highness…” gasps Noctis, clenching his hand against Ignis’ pants. His hips thrust, his erection pressing deep into the space between Ignis’ thighs. Come spurts across the denim and more. 

Ignis stops the spanking. His palm smooths across Noctis’ marked skin. Despite the darkness, he can tell he has turned his backside a steady red across both cheeks. 

Noctis rolls in his arms until they’re facing one another. His bottom presses against Ignis’ thigh as if he is hoping to aggravate the pain. There is no doubt he is pleased by the catlike grin on his face and the shine in his eyes—or perhaps that is the moonlight dancing in them. 

Ignis brushes aside his bangs and kisses him on the tip of the nose. 

“I don’t know how you say that with such ease…”

“Your Highness?” Noctis’ grin widens.

“Yes, that.” Ignis swats him on the thigh for good measure before pulling Noctis closer into a hug. They ought to move—ought to clean up their messes and be done with this, retreating with their shoes and Noctis’ backpack to the safety of Noctis’ old bedroom. For now, he only wants to embrace the true prince, to feel the warmth that reminds him how fortunate he is to have his love reciprocated.


End file.
